


Hearts and Stars

by Acai



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Allusions to Marriage, Cats, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Future Fic, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Light Angst, Living Together, M/M, Morning Routines, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, brief angst, established relationships - Freeform, it never says so and neither do they but theyre definitely married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: Saturday is their day.//Domestic, lazy mornings with Andrew and Neil.





	Hearts and Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reaching_my_summit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaching_my_summit/gifts).



> If you enjoy this fic, make sure you check out the end note for it!
> 
> There’s very brief angst at the very beginning, so feel free to skip down a few paras if you only want fluff :)

Waking up is an unpleasant experience. It’s never gentle, and it’s never slow. Every morning Andrew finds himself jolting awake and gasping for air. 

In his freshman year, and for a decent amount of his sophomore one, he’d woken up each morning clawing at his own chest and fighting to contain his pounding heart. 

Today he wakes up equally terrified, feeling pressure on his  _ wristsfacehips  _ and gasping as he’s wrenched violently out of sleep, but it’s short lived. Every morning he feels his heart thud to his gut at the feeling of a body next to him-- for just a split second--and then every morning he feels relief wash over him just as quickly. Neil is anything but a light sleeper, so he tends to sleep through the daily vacillation happening directly next to him. 

While his heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm, Andrew always finds himself lulled by the same familiarities. He takes in the warmth radiating from the bed, the way that their room smells, and the way that sun drags into their room slowly as he settles back into his spot against the wall. 

Neil always sleeps turned towards the door. Andrew always sleeps pressed against it. Their faces always meet right in the middle. When he lays back down, he can study the gentle rise and fall of Neil’s chest that reassures Andrew of the fact that Neil’s okay and alive, and he can hear the gentle intakes and exhalations. 

Andrew would never be able to sleep with his back to the entire open room like that. The thought of it makes his skin crawl, makes him shiver in fear. But Neil prefers it, won’t sleep any other way. He sleeps with his legs tucked up to his chest, as small as he can get himself, and he sleeps with one hand under his pillow like he’s trying to hide something. But Andrew knows there’s nothing under there. Whatever was under there at one point or another isn’t a priority anymore and has just become another one of Neil’s weird ass quirks and habits. 

They stay like that for awhile while the sun creeps up a little more, with Neil breathing in and out while Andrew lets his mind wander. When Neil does wake up, his eyes peel apart slowly, sleepy and electric blue. He blinks at Andrew, yawns, and promptly tries to fall back asleep. Andrew prods Neil’s cheek until the blue eyes peer at him again. 

Neil sniffs, then turns to fumble for his phone. He checks the time, then asks Andrew in a groggy voice, “breakfast?” 

Andrew wants to soak up this moment a little longer, honestly, but it’s Saturday and he knows he can get Neil to join him on the couch later. He sits up, cracks his back, and makes his way down the ladder. By the time Neil’s feet touch the ground, Andrew’s already holding clothes for the day and slipping out of their room to the bathroom. He showers to the bare minimum, in and out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes. 

While Neil showers, Andrew puts together breakfast. He likes sweet, Neil likes nutritious, so they have pancakes with various shit mixed in. The misfortune of the day is blueberry. 

When Neil joins him, there’s coffee and breakfast waiting on the coffee table in the living room. Andrew’s leaning out the window for a smoke, but Neil plucks it out of his mouth and flicks it away before Andrew can protest. 

“That’s bad for your health,” he says. 

“Being a smartass is bad for your health,” Andrew mutters, resigning himself to closing the window. “And yet, here we are.” 

Neil’s lips twitch into a smile, but he doesn’t reply. Instead he picks up his coffee and plops down onto the couch. He grabs a blanket off the arm and settles into the couch, and some other time Andrew might tease the way that he sinks into it until it’s unclear where Neil ends and the couch begins, but today he just watches. 

Something about the moment feels like it should be uncomfortable. Like he should be wildly nervous about the vulnerability of this apartment--of  _ their  _ apartment--with their cats and their mugs and their blankets. It should be uncomfortable, being in such a permanent place with someone who knows things about him that he swore he’d never tell. But it’s not. It’s just… something. 

There’s something about watching Neil rub Sir’s head that makes Andrew settle next to him, tucking his knees up against his chest and resting his chin on them. 

Days of the week don’t get favorites, because that would be stupid, but if Andrew  _ were  _ to pick a favorite day of the week, it would be Saturday. Neil ran every other morning, because Andrew was fairly sure Neil would never figure out how to stop running; but he got it out of his system by disappearing for an hour or so every morning and then showing up again in time to shower while Andrew made breakfast. 

Except for Saturday, because Saturday was theirs. 

So they sit, Neil petting the cats or chatting mildly about miniscule details of his life or flipping through the channels on the TV; and Andrew sits and watches. 

Andrew watches the man next to him scoop their cat up to stop him from eating his leftover breakfast, and says, “yes or no?” 

Neil plants Sir on the floor and gives Andrew a smile that makes his gut drop-- either in panic or something much, much softer. “Yes.” 

So Andrew shifts, getting closer, and wonders if Neil tastes blueberry pancakes, too. 

When Neil draws back, he collects their plates and goes to wash them off. Andrew leans into the couch, resting his cheek on the cushions and closing his eyes. Neil’s always done work quickly and quietly, so Andrew doesn’t hear much aside from the occasional clattering and running water. How he  _ really  _ knows it’s Neil out there is that he can smell something warm and Christmas-y coming from the kitchen. 

Neil likes candles. He’s got a weird infatuation with them, actually, but it doesn’t affect Andrew in any way; so he doesn’t really give a shit if Neil wants to go out and buy an obscene amount of candles for their dorm. Everything smells like eucalyptus and bourbon, but Andrew will live. It’s not the worst smell. 

It always seems like Neil’s burning through them just as fast as he’s buying them, but somehow they always have two or three stacks in the pantry waiting their turn. Citrus Mint, Spring Bloom, and Fresh Linen and Sky are Neil’s favorites right now, but clearly he’s leaned towards something with vanilla and sugar today. Andrew knows that Neil has never been a fan of sweets, and would hardly buy something so saccharine of his own accord; the candle’s been bought for him. 

If it were anybody else, Andrew would probably hate it. He doesn’t like sentimentals, has never been a fan of gifts or gestures. Even if Neil doesn’t mean it as a gesture of any sort--knowing him, it was some spur of the moment choice without much heavy meaning to it--Andrew  _ should  _ feel irritated. But he doesn’t. He likes it, actually. Because it’s Neil, and it was Neil being reminded of him, and it’s Neil right now burning it in the kitchen while he does the dishes. 

It’s a side of Neil that he’s fond of. 

That’s not to say that he doesn’t like Neil’s sharp-mouthed, dangerous side, too-- because he does-- but there’s something about  _ this  _ side of him that makes Andrew’s stomach settle. 

So he likes the candle. Especially because he likes the smell of it, and it’s going to be twice as nice of a smell when it’s clinging to Neil’s hoodie. 

He slips out a cigarette, but doesn’t light it; not wanting the smell of smoke in the apartment, just wanting to feel the weight and for his lips to have something for his mouth to work on. Neil’s phone chimes, but Andrew only casts it a mild look at moves on. 

His mind bounces between things for some time, the way that it always does when there’s nothing better for him to be doing. He thinks about good things, like the ring resting against his chest on a chain; he briefly thinks about a smattering of not-so-good things, like rehab and most everything else; and he thinks about the things that fall in between, the small seclusion of life that’s bland enough not to warrant a label, like Exy and toast and ankle-cut socks. 

It’s just boring enough that by the time Neil reappears, Andrew only waits long enough to ask an impatient  _ yes or no?  _ before he’s dragged Neil closer to him. He’s close enough to bury his face in the crook of Neil’s neck (just to see if the vanilla scent stuck around) and not give a shit about what Neil thinks of that. 

“I was gone for ten minutes,” Neil says, but Andrew hears the complacent smirk in his tone and elects to ignore him entirely. 

At some point Neil moves just long enough to drape a blanket over them-- a soft one that Allison brought back from a trip at some point as a gift-- and eventually King jumps up to settle down next to Neil. Sir makes an entrance a little later, jumping up to join them and circling a few times in Andrew’s lap before plopping himself down. 

Andrew finds himself content to stay where he is, resting his head on Neil’s shoulder and tiredly observing the other man. Neil turns on a movie, one that they’ve seen before but Neil enjoys and Andrew doesn’t entirely mind, and alternates between petting King and texting while he watches.

Neil’s hoodie does, in fact, smell like the candle. And the blanket from Allison is actually criminally warm. And, okay, Andrew does like the movie just a little bit. 

It’s all one big recipe for Andrew to want to stay right here in this spot forever and never move from it. They don’t have anything else to do today. Saturday is their day. No runs, no work, no errands. So Andrew just  _ might  _ stay right here without leaving. Until Neil gets up at some point inevitably, anyway. But he has a feeling that’s not going to be for a few hours at least. 

For now he stays where he is. The moment’s not a panacea--far from it, in fact-- but it is nice. And Bee always says to take the time and enjoy little things, so Andrew allows it for himself. 

Neil’s phone chimes again, but he only flicks it a glance. If there’s an emergency, someone will call. Until then, it doesn’t matter. 

Saturday is their day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! Some friends and I are putting together an AFTG text-style RP, and since there's not much content these days for it most places, I figured posting some content to Ao3 was as good a chance as any at finding some members! If you're interested, please contact me at any of the media posted below or in the comments! Thank you all so much for checking this out, and I hope you'll check out the RP! 
> 
> Tumblr: 12am  
> Pillowfort: Vine  
> Twitter: Touyata  
> Instagram: Filliams 
> 
>  
> 
> I love hearing your feedback, so don't hesitate to let me know what you thought in the comments below. Thank you all!


End file.
